


The 5 Times Connor McKinley Almost Loses His Faith, and the 1 Time He Doesn't

by ESawyer



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Churchtarts - relationship - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, Sexual Abuse, conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ESawyer/pseuds/ESawyer
Summary: Connor McKinley does not understand Heavenly Father.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	The 5 Times Connor McKinley Almost Loses His Faith, and the 1 Time He Doesn't

**Author's Note:**

> TW//  
> Child abuse, homophobia, sexual assault, conversion therapy.  
> (Not as dark as it seems, I promise).

**1.**

Ten year old Connor McKinley might look stupid in his slightly scuffed tapshoes and one of his sisters old blouses (“That dad is absolutley _not_ allowed to see you in, Con. Do you understand?” Elizabeth had said to him firmly. They are three years apart in age, but sometimes it feels like just three days), but he isn’t actually. He knows that what he feels for other boys in his class is wrong, but he can’t help it. And it isn’t as though he hasn’t tried. Heavenly Father, he has _tried._

Sometimes, he sits in his classes and stares at one of the girls, trying to convince himself that he likes her like that. All he can ever think, however, is that she looks like one of his many cousins and his eyes slide over to Steve, and he is much nicer to look at. He is funny and smart and he isn’t mean like the other boys are.

He cast his eyes away from Steve and looks down at his notebook, idly doodling their initials in the margin, surrounded by tiny love hearts. He likes Steve. He likes Steve a lot. He likes being around him, but he would like to hold Steve’s hand, too. And maybe even _kiss_ him.

He gasps out loud and has to suppress a giggle at the very thought of kissing Steve. Thankfully, their teacher, Mrs Stevensons, is too old and too bored of her job to notice much so won’t shout at Connor for giggling. Even better, the rest of the class are too focused on their own conversations to notice Connor giggling to himself.

But imagine that! Kissing another _boy!_ It seems so much better than kissing girls, and he wonders if Steve thinks that. He drums his pencil against the table. Maybe Steve would like to kiss him. His eyes flicker back over to Steve who is leaning back on his chair, and looks to be half listening to whatever his friend is saying to him.

One day, Connor thinks to himself, I would very much like to kiss Steve Blade. He writes it in his diary that night, just so he will always remember to one day kiss Steve Blade.

It is only after this day that Connor comes to the quite horrific realisation that just because he would _like_ to do something, doesn’t mean he should actually do it.

He is sat in Church, sandwiched between his dad and sister, toes barely scraping the floor as he swings his legs backwards and forwards on his chair. His dad puts a firm hand on his leg and looks down at him, eyes hard and mouth pressed into a thin line. Connor stops swinging his legs at once, subconsciously leaning into his sister who leans right back, because she always seems to know exactly what is happening in his head. Even on the days when he doesn’t - which is most of the time, he thinks.

Secretly, Connor has always found Sacrament strange. A lot of what the Bishop says goes in one ear and then right out the other, but sometimes the things that he says stick with him - and it’s never because he likes what he hears.

Today, Connor is enraptured by the Bishop’s words and his eyes are wide as he watches him pace up and down at the front. Though, they are not wide in admiration, but _fear_ for he is talking about men who like other men, about something called same sex attraction. And he says that it is _wrong,_ because Heavenly Father did not make men to be like that. He made men in the image of Him.

“Moses 2:26-27 says, _“And I, God, created man in mine own imagine, in the image of mine Only Begotten created I him; male and female created I them,”_ The Bishop says, “If our Heavenly Father created men to be with other men, he would not have created women. Remember that,”

Connor doesn’t understand some of the words that are being said, but he understands enough for his stomach to twist uneasily and his mouth to go dry.

Elizabeth’s arm snakes around his shoulder and she gently kisses him on the temple, “I love you, Con. Don’t ever forget that,”

He is confused; he has always understood Heavenly Father to love everyone, that's what his mom says to him. He looks over at his mom, and his heart stops beating for a moment when he sees that she is nodding along to what the Bishop is saying.

Does Heavenly Father love everyone but him? Connor looks down at the Book of Mormon that is resting on his lap and starts flicking through it, searching for the passage that always makes him feel better, the one his mom always reminds him of - ‘ _Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God;and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God’._

If he loves boys, then Heavenly Father should still love him, right? If He created love, then why would He let Connor love boys? Or maybe Heavenly Father allows him to love boys because He doesn’t really love him.

Connor doesn’t know which one he would choose if he absolutely had to.

**2.**

The McKinley household is never explicitly hateful; there are comments, of course, but the sort of comments that Connor is able to look over now that he is 18 years old. He has grown up, grown to understand himself, grown to _accept_ himself, every single part of himself.

He is Connor McKinley. He is 18 years old. He is a member of the Church of Jesus Chris of Latter Day Saints. A _proud_ member of the Church of Jesus Chris of Latter Day Saints. He is gay, and dang proud of it, because why should he not be? 

After all, Heavenly Father has made him this way, and he is not one to disobey the Lord.

And that is how he ends up sitting his parents down at the dining room table, his heart beating with nervous excitement because this is all part of God’s plan. God wants him to do this.

“Is everything okay, darling?” his mom asks.

“Fine,” he says cheerfully, because it _is,_ “I need to tell you something,”

“What is it, son?” his dad asks.

“I’m gay,”

The words fall out of his mouth, and he swears his can feel the tension he’s felt in his body for maybe his entire life fade away into nothing, and it is a feeling unlike anything he has ever felt before. He grins at his parents, but falters when he realises that they aren’t grinning back, they aren’t even _smiling._

“Mom?” he asks tentatively, unable to understand why she is suddenly sobbing, “Why are you crying?”

“How can you do this to us, Connor?” his dad demands, “You’re meant to be going on your mission in one year! Less than a year! I've been offered the job of Mission President!”

Connor frowns, “I - I know. I’m still going to go on my mission. I don’t know what - why are you bringing my mission up?”

“How can you go on your mission when you’re suffering like this?”

“Suffering?” Connor repeats numbly.

“Same-sex attraction is not normal, Connor,” his dad tells him with the air of a man who is helping a child with their homework, “but don’t worry, son. We can fix it. We can get you help,”

“Why...why do I need help?” he asks quietly.

“You’re confused, darling,” his mom says quietly, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. We’ll take you to see the Bishop tomorrow, he’ll explain everything. We can get you help,”

“But I’m - I’m proud of being gay,” Connor mumbles, tears stinging his eyes.

His mom moves around to his side of the table and puts her arms around him, pulling him into her. She kisses the top of his head and rubs soothing circles into his back as the tension that he had been temporarily free from returns.

It suddenly occurs to him that the ‘all loving’ household that he thought that he was brought up in was nothing but a front all along.

**~.~.~**

For as long as he can remember, there has always been whispers of young members of the church going for ‘treatment’. Connor has always known _why_ people go for this treatment, but not what actually happens during it.

All he knows is that one of his cousins went and when she came back, there was no light behind her eyes and she’s has never been the same since.

Connor finds himself sitting in an office with a Bishop who he has never met before. Neither of them has spoken, and Connor does not want to be the first to speak. He sits, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt, wondering if there is anything he could say to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Do you know why you are here, Connor?” the Bishop asks finally.

“I - no,” Connor says, refusing to bow down to the notion that he is broken, that he needs to be fixed, “No. I don’t,”

The Bishop nods and scribbles something down, Connor has half a mind to ask what he’s writing.

“You’re a troubled young man, Connor, but there is nothing to say that you cannot be helped,”

“I don’t need help, thank-you,”

“The first step is admitting that you do,” the Bishop says.

“I don’t need help,” Connor repeats.

“It’s going to be hard,” the Bishop tells him, “but we will get there,”

Connor soon learns that conversion therapy is not the act of bundling someone into a closet and locking the door. It is destroying closet so that they have nothing to come out of. It is breaking a person beyond repair and rebuilding them into someone else, rebuilding them into someone that they are not.

Half the time, Connor is not sure what is happening. Sometimes he is locked in a room for hours on end, with no one but his thoughts to keep him company. Sometimes he has a counselling session where he tearfully admits all the thoughts that he’s been having, and how he _hates_ every single one of them. How he hates himself, more than anything. Other times, he is alone in a room with a woman who is in his ward. They sit together on a sofa, and she touches him, tells him how much he is enjoying it, how much he wants it. He sits there, straight backed and terrified, agreeing with whatever foul thing she is whispering in his ear because that’s safe. That’s how he survives.

The day before he leaves for Uganda, the Bishop shakes his hand and congratulates him because he has come on leaps and bounds, because his is fixed. Connor shakes his hand with a robotic smile and thanks him for the help, but not before he apologises for ever needing help in the first place.

He gets home, and his mom tells him how proud she is of her little boy, and how Elizabeth would be proud of him if she wasn't away on her mission. He sits through a phone call with his dad who is away being a Mission President, and he tells him how he's never been as proud of him as he is right now, and how he's going to be a fantastic missionary. Maybe even a District Leader. Connor thanks him, and tells him that all he ever wants to do is make him proud. 

As soon as he is alone and has locked himself in his room, his legs give way beneath him and he lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, though no tears come because he doesn't cry. Not anymore. Good Mormom men don't cry. Good Mormom men don't let their feelings take over. Good Mormon men don't crave the touch of another man.

Without realising what he is doing, Connor stretches out his arm, as though reaching for a hand and for a moment, he can feel it. He can feel the ghostly touch of someone else.

He jerks his hand back to his chest, because even _imagining_ it is a sin. He can’t entertain the idea, not anymore.

He drags himself back to his feet and over to his mirror. He does not recognise the person staring back at him; the blank, empty eyes, the grey, lifeless skin, the unusually unkempt hair falling pathetically across his forehead.

But this is better. This is how he should be. The way he was before was wrong.

He is Connor McKinley. He is 19 years old. He is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. A _proud_ member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He is not gay, and he is dang proud of it.

And yet, despite everything that he is going through, he can’t understand how Heavenly Father would want him to feel like this.

He doesn’t know if he wants to worship a God who makes him feel like this.

**3.**

Connor McKinley is tired and dejected as he works through the sweltering Ugandan heat, wanting nothing more than to change out of his uniform and seek out the shade.  
  
Elder McKinley, however, is energetic and chipper as he walks through Kitguli, Book of Mormon in hand. He doesn’t think about changing out of his uniform and spending the day lazing about, he thinks about spreading the Good Word and living a holy, righteous life.  
  
“What about this hut here, Elder?” Elder Thomas asks, pointing over at one closest to them, “We’ve never tried that one before,”  
  
“Good idea, Elder!” he replies cheerfully, eagerly walking over to the mud hut and plastering his very best, very false smile onto his face.

His movements are robotic as he knocks on the door, holding his Book of Mormon so that the title is just visible above the crook of his elbow. Even as he rehearses what he is going to say in his head, he knows that it’ll be no use. No one has ever listened to him here.

“Hello!” he says brightly when the door swings open, “My name is Elder McKinley and this is Elder Thomas, we’re part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints! Can I interest you in-”

The man laughs at him, “You're with a _Church,_ are you? Tell me, White Boy, does your Church have all the answers?”

“Yes!” Connor says, “The Lord can provide you with comfort in-”

“Comfort, you say? Tell me, will the Lord heal my father?”

“If we ask him through prayer, perhaps,” Elder Thomas pipes up.

The man stands to the side, inviting them into his hut, “Come, then. We will pray,”

Connor exchanges an excited look with his mission companion as he follows the man inside. This is it. This is how they get their first baptism! And all his teachers at the MTC used to tell him that when you got that first one, the rest would just follow!

He freezes on the threshold of the living room, his body tenses and bile rises in his throat. Just as he goes to make an excuse about why they need to leave, the man shoves him forward and he is forced to confront the scene before him.

An elderly man is lay on a makeshift bed, nothing more than skin and bone. His chest rising and falling as his breath comes out in strained gasps. Elder Thomas’ hands scrabble to grip onto his arm. Usually, Connor would brush his hands away, tell him to pull himself together, but he will allow it, just this once.

“Shall we pray, then?” the man asks, “do you have a prayer for AIDs?”

Connor knows that he’s being sarcastic, but he still fumbles to open his Book. It will help. It helps him. Or, at least, he thinks it does.

“W-Well,” Connor stutters, “Matthew 4:23 says that - it says that - um...” he trails off. He had lost count of the amount of times that this had been said to him during his treatment, “Matthew 4:23 says that Jesus healed all manner of sickness so-”

“Where is he?” the man asks, “Jesus. Where is he?”

Connor stares for a moment before he finds his words again, “We can - we can pray,” he holds his hand out, “Please?”

The man scoffs and swats his hand away, “Prayer isn’t going to save him,”

“Elder - Elder McKinley,” Elder Thomas whispers in his ear, “Can we - can we leave. I can’t stay - I don’t - I need to - please, can we leave. Can we go back to the - please, I can’t stay here. It’s too like - it’s like - my sister, please. I want to - I want to go back,”

“Sorry, of course,” Connor says, taken aback by how pale Elder Thomas suddenly looks. He looks back over at the man, “I’m sorry about your dad, sir,”

The man shrugs and casts his eyes towards the ceiling, “Hasa Diga Eebowai,”

Connor flinches at the phrase and grabs Elder Thomas by the wrist, dragging him out of the hut.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, rounding on him, “I forgot about your sister,”

“I suppose you would rather me do that, too,”

“I - no, of course not. Why would I want you to forget her?” Connor asks, “I don’t think-”

“‘ _T_ _urn it off, Elder Thomas! We can’t let our feelings get in the way of our work!’_ ”

“That doesn’t mean that you can’t think about your-”

“It means that you can pretend that you’re straight though, doesn’t it?”

Connor jerks away from him, “I’m sorry, Elder Thomas, but you do not get to talk about that! That is my business, my life-”

“Whatever, Elder McKinley,” he snaps, “we’d be a much happier district if you weren’t such a coward,”

“We both just saw the same thing. We both saw that man dying of AIDs. Do you want that for me?” Connor asks angrily, “it’s a gay mens disease and Heavenly Father sent me here to show that to me. To _remind_ me of what might happen if I give into urges and-”

Elder Thomas scoffs and shakes his head, “If you could hear yourself speak right now, you’d think you were being stupid. Which you are,” he adds angrily.

“We’re not having this conversation,” Connor snaps, “Come on. We’re going back to the hut,”

“You’re really camp when you’re angry, you know,”

Connor tries to take the moral high ground and not tell Elder Thomas that he is equally as camp. This resolve lasts exactly thirty seconds before he whirls around to snap at him.

“So are you!”

“At least I can accept that part of myself!” he yells.

“What?”

He rolls his eyes, “Calm down. You’re not my type,”

Connor does not wait around and speak to the other Elders when they get back to the hut, he simply stomps through the living room and to the tiny office at the back of the hut. He slams the door shut behind him and drops into his desk chair, his head in his hands.

He thinks of Steve Blade, and how he made him feel. He thinks of conversion therapy, and how that made him feel. He thinks of Elder Thomas, and his sister. He thinks of Elder Church and the looks that he’s been sharing with Elder Thomas. He thinks of that poor man and his father, and how Heavenly Father isn’t watching over them, and he can’t help but wonder _why._

_Why_ does Heavenly Father allow this to happen? Why does he allow people to live in such abject poverty? Why does he allow people to get ill with no cure?

_Why, why, why?_

A knock on the door tears him out of his thoughts and he hastens to sit up in his chair, pulling a random bit of paperwork towards him.

“Come in!”

“Hey, Elder,” it’s Elder Neeley, “We just got sent the files for the new missionaries. Elder Cunningham and Elder Price from Salt Lake City. This Elder Price is the best of the best, apparently,”

“Thank-you, Elder Neeley,” Connor says, taking the files off him.

Connor glances down at the files in front of him, his eyes immediately drawn to the picture of Elder Price. His heart does a little flip in his chest before becoming heavy with dread.

“ _Why_ ,” he groans.

**4.**

“Has anybody seen Elder Price?” Connor asks anxiously, rushing around the hut, “Is Elder Price around? Why has no one - _Elder Michaels! Your tie has to be all the way up, no ifs, no buts_ \- why has no one told Elder Price that the Mission President is here today? Did he even come back to the hut last night?”

“Calm down, Elder McKinley,” Elder Church says, “Elder Cunningham has gone to find him,”

“Well, he better hurry - _Elder Schrader! Why is your shirt not tucked in?_ \- he better hurry up. The Mission President is going to be here soon! Oh, no, are we sure that everything is ready?”

“Chill,” Elder Thomas whispers, nudging him with his elbow, “You’re okay. We’re going to be okay,”

“Yes, of course. Of course we’re going to be okay,” Connor says, smoothing down his hair and snapping at Elder Neeley to do the same, “Right. Come on, everyone. We shouldn’t keep the Mission President waiting,”

Only, Connor himself can barely keep up with what the Mission President is saying to him, too worried about Elder Price and wherever the heck he is. Finally, he sees him, limping over to them, shoulders slumped and head bent low.

“Elder Price, where on Earth have you been?” Connor snaps, marching over to him and shoving his shoulder, “You did not come home last night and I cannot even begin to explain how danger- Elder?”

Price looks up at him, eyes heavily lidded and bloodshot. There’s a bit of dried blood on the corner of his mouth and his shirt is streaked with blood, dirt and something else. Connor leans closer, frowning.

“What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Elder McKinley,” he says, his voice hoarse. He smiles, but Connor can tell it’s not real. It’s full of cynicism and makes him uncomfortable.

“Elder Price-”

“Sorry, Elder. We should be listening to what the Mission President has to say,” he speaks as though every word is painful and his voice is heavy with sarcasm, “ _Praise Christ,”_

Connor’s frown deepens. He has never heard Price speak like that, has never heard him utter the Lord’s name with such vitriol and contempt.

“Come, Elder, let’s go back to the hut and talk about whatever has happened,” Connor puts a tentative hand onto Price’s shoulder but it’s hit away almost immediately.

“ _Don’t_ touch me,” he hisses, “Get away from me,”

If Connor was a better District Leader, he would have reprimanded Price not only for speaking to him in such a way, but for daring to turn up to an event with the Mission President looking like such a mess.

But Connor is not that District Leader, he simply nods his head and takes a step back from Elder Price.

“Please do your top button up, Elder Price. We should be following the rules,” Connor says quietly.

“Yeah, because you _always_ follow the rules, don’t you?”

“Fasten your top button,” Connor says firmly, knowing exactly what Price is hinting at, “I won’t ask you again,”

He looks over at where Elder Cunningham is standing, wondering why he isn’t more worried about his mission companion. Not three days ago he was hanging onto Price’s every word, looking up at him like he was some sort of God.

“The heck is going on with Elder Price?” Elder Thomas whispers in his ear.

“I don’t know,” Connor admits, glancing at Price out of the corner of his eye. He is staring straight ahead, a blank look on his face, “I’ll find out,”

Any anxiety that Connor is feeling because of Elder Price disappears when the play finishes and the Mission President turns to look at him with a face like thunder.

“Elders, I would like to have a word with you,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. Connor feels all eyes on him, and for some reason, he can’t bring himself to move. “ _Now_ ,”

Connor jumps and hastens to follow him back to the mission hut, trying to come up with some sort of excuse, some sort of explanation as to why the villagers seem to be under the impression that Brigham Young had a clitoris for a nose.

“Mister President, I am _so_ sorry, I had no idea-”

"You keep your mouth shut, kid. You’re in as much trouble as it is,” he snaps.

Connor bites the inside of his lip and takes a step back, bowing his head meekly and waiting for his inevitable fall into Hell. Gosh, his Hell dream tonight is going to be _terrible._

“Elder McKinley, can I have a word with you in your office?” the Mission President asks after a lengthy silence.

“Of c-course, sir,” Connor stammers, “It’s, uh, it’s just down the hall,”

He chances a glance behind him, intending to send a panicked look Elder Thomas’ way but instead locks eyes with Elder Price who looks to be on the verge of tears as he mouths, “ _Sorry_ ,”.

The Mission President slams the door shut behind him, and Connor turns to look at him, tears streaming down his face.

“Dad, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened! I don’t know _why_ they were saying all those things, I don’t know-”

“They were saying those things because _you_ don’t have any control over them!” he snaps, “Do you know how hard it was to convince people to let me give you the title of District Leader? How hard it was to convince _myself?_ I thought you were better than this, Connor! I thought your days of disappointing me were behind you!”

Connor looks away from him, only to be reprimanded straight away.

“Don’t you dare look away from me when I’m speaking to you!” he yells, and Connor so desperately wants to tell him to keep his voice down because if he knows his boys, and he does, he knows that they’re all standing right outside the door, listening in, “You have brought the utmost shame onto this district, onto yourself, onto your family, onto the _Church!_ ”

“I’ve said I’m sorry!” Connor cries, “I am! I really am! I don’t know what you want me to do!”

“Stop being a constant disappointment!”

The words hit him in the face and knock the wind out of him. A sob escapes his lips and he covers his face with his hands. He hears his dad tut and then there’s hands on his wrists, tearing his hands from his face.

“Be a man for once in your life, Connor! Stop blubbering! Pull yourself together!”

Connor rips his arms out of his father's grip and staggers away from him, furiously wiping his eyes.

“I’m so-sorry. I should - I should turn it off. I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying,”

“Are you, though?” his dad asks, “because you mentioned Elder Price far too many times in your last report for a missionary who’s barely been here a week! And I saw you looking at him, and talking to him. I don’t think you’re trying at all!”

Connor whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, “No, no. I swear, I’m not - I’m not like that anymore. I t-told you. I’m not like that. Not anymore. I got fixed, I swear. I’m fixed, I’m better,”

“You still have the thoughts though, no?” his dad asks.

“Yes,” Connor whispers, shamefaced, “I’m sorry, I’m trying. I promise I’m trying, dad,”

“Not enough though,”

Connor knows what’s going to happen before it does, so he braces himself, tells himself that he’ll take it like a _man._ He stands straight backed with his hands clenched into fists. He barely flinches when the palm cracks against his cheekbone and somehow manages to keep himself together.

“This District is shut down,” he snaps, “You’re all going home,”

“Yes. Of course,” Connor whispers, “I’m sorry,”

“And you’re going to go back to therapy. Clearly you’re not doing enough to control yourself,” he hisses, “I’ll see you at home,”

He flings the door and, as Connor had expected, the Elders are all stood there, their eyes wide.

"Thanks to my sons failure as your District Leader, District 9 is no longer in use. Pack your bags. You'll be flying home in the next few days," 

He turns to give Connor one last look of contempt before storming away. No one speaks until they hear the front door slam shut. 

"His...son?" Elder Church asks in a small voice, "Was that - is that your dad?"

Connor wipes his eyes, "Yes,"

"Why did you never say anything?" Elder Thomas asks, "I mean, I knew he was a Mission President but I didn't know he was _our-"_

"I didn't want you think that's the only reason I got District Leader even though...even though it probably was," he sniffles, "I'm sorry. I've not been a good leader. I've failed you all. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me," 

"Elder, that isn't what-" Elder Thomas sighs, "That's not the point, he just _hit_ -"

"I think I would rather be alone," Connor says, "Please go and pack your bags," 

He slams the door shut in their faces and makes sure to not start sobbing until he's sure they're away from the door. 

**5.**

Really, Connor doesn’t understand how they’ve managed to stay in Kitguli, but he doesn’t question it. He isn’t entirely sure if he even still wants to be there, but being there means not being in America, which means he isn't therapy. He doesn’t have a home to go back to anymore - his dad had made that much clear - but he is choosing to not think that far ahead. The best thing for him to do is to just focus on the _now._ And the now involves writing to all the Elder’s parents, apologising for what has happened and assuring them that their children are quite safe. He is avoiding writing the letter to James’ parents, though that is probably just making matters worse. Then again, if there’s one thing that Connor McKinley is very good at, it’s making matters worse.

They have been preaching from the Book of Arnold for a month, and Connor can see the difference in not just the villagers, but the Elders, too. James is not as elusive, Davis has come out of his shell and Arnold has calmed down to the point where it is easy to have a conversation with him - though Connor thinks that Nabulungi has had a lot to do with that.

He just wishes he felt better. The others seemed to have dropped their faith rather quickly - or are at least in the process of dropping it - but Connor can’t shake it. Every morning, he wakes up at 6:30 even though most sleep in until 8:30, and then he goes for a morning jog, prays (even though he’s never sure who he’s praying too) and then cooks breakfast for the other Elders.

It’s exhausting, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

He tries to focus on what he’s writing to Mr and Mrs Schrader, but is distracted by someone banging on the door.

“Come in!” he shouts.

“Kevin wont stop crying,” It’s James, looking as panicked as ever.

Connor frowns, “Arnold-”

“Left for Kampala this morning,” James says hurriedly, “and he’s asking for you,”

Connor’s heart does _not_ jump at this, and he is _not_ fighting to keep himself from giggling like a 13 year old girl.

“Where is he?” he asks, his voice thankfully level. 

“Currently crying into your pillows,” James says bluntly, “can you go and speak to him? He’s scary when he’s like this. I’ve never heard someone swear so much in my life,”

“Of course. I’ll go now,”

“Oh, and uh, Connor? I’m sorry about - about your dad. If you ever want to speak about it...I can - you can come and find me. I’m sort of an expert in dealing with terrible dads,”

Connor smiles and pats him on the shoulder as he passes him, “Thank-you, James. I will...I will keep that in mind,”

Although Connor and Chris’ room is at the end of the hall, he can already hear the deep, guttural sounds of Kevin crying. It is a sound unlike anything that Connor has ever heard, and he hopes that he never has to hear it again.

“Kevin?” Connor says softly when he reaches the door, “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t hear a yes, but he also doesn’t hear a no. Hesitantly, he opens the door and peeks inside. The sight before him breaks his heart: Kevin is sat on Connor’s bed, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, head bent low as his shoulders shake with the force of his sobs.

“Kevin?” Connor asks, “Kevin, come on. Look at me, bud,”

He looks up at him, face bright red and eyes swollen from crying. Connor still thinks he’s beautiful.

“Sorry,” Kevin says, voice hoarse, “I know I should just - I know I shouldn’t be here and I know that you’re probably busy but Arnold isn’t here and I don’t - I don’t know who else to speak to. I’m sorry,”

“No, don’t apologise. This is part of my job. What’s wrong?”

“I need to - I need to tell you something,” he whispers, “I’m still - I’m still scared and I can’t sleep or eat and - I don’t...I need help,”

Connor frowns, “What is it?”

“That day - the day when your dad - I mean, the day of the play. I hadn’t been back to the hut because...I went to - I went to the General because I just - I wanted to do some good and prove myself and fix everything and I thought that - I thought that I could convert him,”

Connor’s blood runs cold and he closes his eyes.

“And he - he took my Book of Mormon and he forced me to bend over and he -” his voice breaks, “and he forced it in my - into my - no, no, _no._ I can’t say it. I can’t say it,”

He throws his arms around Connor’s neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Connor freezes, arms hanging stiffly at his sides because _finally,_ the boy he has been dreaming about is in his arms, although it’s not really how he imagined it would be.

“It’s okay,” Connor says quietly, eventually finding it in himself to put his arms around him, “You don’t have to - you don’t have to...I mean, I understand. You don’t have to say anything more,”

“I want it to stop. I want the pain to stop,”

Connor tightens his arms around him because he doesn’t know what else he is meant to do. No amount of training at the MTC could have prepared him for this. There was not a class for what to do when one of your missionaries tells you he’s had a book shoved up his ass.

“You’re going to get through this, Kevin, I promise,” Connor whispers, “You have Arnold and Nabulungi and you have - you have me. I’m going to be here for you, I promise,”

Kevin pulls away and nods, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand, “Sorry for crying,”

Connor shakes his head, “It’s okay. Do you need anything? Food? A drink?”

“Can you just - can you stay? If you’re not - if you’re not busy,”

“Of course,” Connor says, “Of course I’ll stay,”

They sit side by side on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Kevin falls asleep not even five minutes later, his head dropping onto Connor’s shoulder. At some point, Kevin had taken his hand and although Connor thinks he might have done it without realising in his sleep, he holds on. He needs this. Kevin needs this. They both need it, and he doesn't think he's ever shared a moment like this with anyone before. He doesn't think he'd want to share this moment with anyone _but_ Kevin. 

Connor looks down at Kevin’s sleeping face; his mouth is open slightly and his hair falls across his forehead, and Connor just doesn’t _understand._ He doesn’t understand how Heavenly Father could put someone as good and as sweet and as devout as Kevin Price through something so abhorrent, something so violent. For the first time, he's understands the villagers feelings towards God, he understands why they would utter thst horrible phrase. 

Or maybe he's always understood it. He isn't sure anymore. 

“ _Hasa Diga Eebowai,”_ he whispers up at the ceiling.

**+1**

One thing that Connor will never enjoy is grocery shopping. Admittedly, it is much easier in America than it is in Uganda, but that doesn’t mean that he has to enjoy it. He trails behind Kevin slightly who is standing on the shopping cart and zooming through the aisles of Costco like it is the most exciting place to be. And after three years, Connor is still coming to terms with the fact that his boyfriend is constantly like a child who has drank too much coke.

“Kev,” Connor sighs, lugging two cartons of milk over to the cart, “behave for once in your life,”

“You’re no fun when we’re shopping,” Kevin pouts.

“Sorry for not finding capitalism exciting,”

Kevin rolls his eyes, “You always say my capitalism jokes aren’t funny,”

“Because they aren’t, darling,” Connor says, “You’re just pretty. Pretty people aren’t meant to be funny,”

“I’ll have you know I’m both,”

“You keep on telling yourself that,”

Kevin scowls at him and then sticks his tongue out before kicking off the ground and riding the cart down another aisle.

“I’ll just get everything on my own then, shall I?” Connor calls to him, waving the shopping list around.

“Thanks, babe!” Kevin shouts over his shoulder, “I’ll get the coffee!”

“Typical,” Connor mutters, stomping off in search of the bread.

He does not come across the bread, but a counter of engagement rings. He stares at it for a moment before glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Kevin isn’t going to slide out of nowhere on that damn shopping cart.

“Uh...hi,” he says to the woman behind the counter, “Do you...do you have like...engagement rings that don’t have a diamond on them? I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate a massive diamond,"

The woman smiles at him and points over to the more plain bands, “Silver of gold?”

“Uh...I think - uh...gold?” Connor says, realising that this is not anything he has ever thought about before, “Yeah. Gold,”

He manages to pick out a ring, pay for it and hide it all under 30 minutes and without Kevin seeing him.

“You okay?” Kevin asks when they find each other again, “You look weird,”

“Aw, thank-you, Kev. How did I ever get so lucky?”

“Whatever,” Kevin sighs.

Connor tries to act normal when he is driving them home, but he knows that Kevin can sense that something is wrong. He just can’t think of a good enough lie. He doesn’t like lying but he wouldn’t mind be able to...divert the truth.

“Is everything ok, Connor?” Kevin asks as they unpack their groceries.

“Fine,” Connor says, “Why?”

“I don’t know. You just seem...distant?”

Connor shrugs and leans up to kiss his cheek, “All good, babe. I’d tell you if I wasn’t,”

Really, Connor would like to propose in a more extravagent way, and maybe with a Tiffany ring but dropping to one knee in the middle of their kitchen with a Costco rings feel better.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kevin asks.

“What does it look like?”

“I don’t - I’m not saying it in case you aren’t doing it,”

“Well, I’m not tying my shoe laces,”

“Are you...are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yeah,”

“Oh.”

“So?” Connor asks, “Will you marry me?”

Kevin’s face breaks out into a massive grin and he nods, pulling Connor to his feet by his t-shirt.

“Yes,” he whispers against Connor’s lips, “Yes. Yes. Yes,”

Connor giggles as he slips the ring onto his finger, "I love you," 

“I love you, too,"

Connor will always have issues with the LDS Church. He will always have issues with Heavenly Father. He will always grapple with his faith. He will always scoff at missionaries when he passes them on the street.

But for now, for today, he will say a silent prayer of thanks to God for leading him to Kevin Price.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading!


End file.
